


Different Ways

by Dragontrill



Series: Broken [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brain Damage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Bucky, Protective Avengers, Rumlow is an asshole, Steve should always read the fine print, Therapy, bucky has no idea what sort of person he's supposed to be, costs and consequences, steve loves bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragontrill/pseuds/Dragontrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's trying to find his way in the world, but it's not easy, even with the support of the Avengers, and all of the protection they offer might not be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this will be or exactly where I'm going with it. I'll add tags/characters/warnings as needed.
> 
> This one gets directly into Bucky's headspace. I'm playing fairy loose with mental issues (I hope. I'd hate to think anyone actually suffered the way Bucky does) so don't get too critical when I get it wrong.
> 
> To be honest, I haven't written fanfiction in years and I never planned to put up anything after I posted Hunger. It's literally the comments that keep me inspired, so if you want to see more, keep it up. :D

There was a little spider making its way across the ceiling, moving leg by leg across the bumpy white surface, delicate little steps that tested the surface before they trusted to hold on and take the next step. Step after step, leg after leg, it made its way across the ceiling, uncaring of any danger, confident in itself.

It was beautiful. It was ugly, with its bloated body and long, spindly legs that arched high over its head, its mandibles working in its mouth. Its eyes were huge, all eight of them shining in the light of the room and reflecting everything below them. But it was still beautiful at the same time because it was utterly irrelevant, totally unimportant, and still he could appreciate it and just stare until it fully made its way across the ceiling and down the wall, where it vanished behind a bookcase.

Once it was gone, Bucky looked back at the man seated on the chair across from him. Overweight, in his fifties, didn't exercise, not combat trained. Bucky catalogued thirty different ways to kill him without resorting to the knife he had hidden on him.

"Are you back with me, Mr Barnes?" the psychiatrist asked. Bucky couldn't tell if he was angry any more than he could tell if he were ecstatic. He didn't say anything, just as he was pretty sure he hadn't said anything since he first arrived for his daily appointment. The man sighed. "These therapy sessions aren't going to work if you refuse to engage during them." He waited for a reply, but Bucky didn't reply. The man was weak, inferior. He wasn't a target or a handler. There was nothing worth saying. 

"Alright, Mr Barnes. The hour's over. I'll see you at the same time tomorrow."

That meant he could go. Bucky looked back towards the bookcase, but the spider was still out of sight. He thought briefly about knocking the bookcase to the floor to see if he could find it, but Steve would be unhappy and he would probably frighten the spider.

Bucky stood and walked out the door. The waiting room outside was richly decorated and comfortable, just like the doctor's office, with original art on the walls and leather furniture. Gentle music played overhead, some sort of symphony he couldn't recognize. The woman sitting behind the receptionist desk was beautiful. She was also trim and muscled. She did exercise; still had no combat training, but she took care of herself. If she'd said anything to him, he might have responded. He might not have. She only smiled anyway.

He wandered towards the exit door and had just opened it when he heard a voice behind him. "Whoa! Wait up there, no leaving without me, man!" 

Bucky looked back. Sam Wilson was setting down the magazine he'd been reading and headed towards him. "Forgot I came with you?" he grinned.

"Sort of," Bucky murmured and ducked his head.

Sam just laughed. "That's okay. Been getting so much press lately it's good for my ego to be forgettable. How'd your session go? Must have been good since you're talking and everything." He opened the door for Bucky while he spoke and Bucky walked out into the wide hallway beyond. It led to more offices in one direction and to glass doors in the other.

"I saw a spider," Bucky told him. 

"Okay...?"

Bucky wandered towards the glass doors, Sam following behind. He could see people moving through the floor's central lobby beyond. There were sixteen different businesses on this floor, serving people from many different lifestyles, but business outfits were the most common clothes worn, in contrast to Bucky's hoodie and jeans.

"Do you not like Dr Alexander?" Sam asked him. "You've been seeing him for three months."

Bucky didn't answer. There was nothing about the doctor that made Bucky want to talk to him at all. Steve said he didn't have to say anything he didn't want to, so he said nothing. Steve also said he had to go to therapy, so he went. 

He walked across the lobby to the elevators, careful not to bump into anyone, his hands shoved into his hoodie's front pocket to hide his metal hand. A group of five men chatting near one of the elevators looked over at him, all of them in business suits and ties, and Bucky heard them start to laugh.

"Didn't know they treated drug addicts in this building," one of them joked.

"Shouldn't he be out back sleeping in a cardboard box?"

There were ten different ways to kill all five of them in under fifteen seconds, if he didn't use the knife. Bucky just stared ahead at the elevator.

Sam frowned at them. "Hey, don't be assholes, dudes."

The men bristled. There was no actual threat to any of them. "Who do you think you are, boy?" one of them snapped.

"What? Did you actually just call me boy?"

Another of the men laughed. "Don't you have some floors you should be waxing?"

Steve would be angry if he heard about this. Steve was always defending people who couldn't defend themselves. Bucky could remember him if he tried hard; small and scrawny, determined no matter what. Sam didn't need any defending. Steve wouldn't care.

Bucky stopped and turned, facing the laughing men as he unzipped his hoodie and let it fall to the ground behind him. He had a sleeveless shirt on underneath it. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. 

"Go away," he whispered.

His arm glistened in the light of the fluorescents. It had been doodled on and decorated, during times when his head was good and he wanted to be touched, but it was still obvious what it was. The men's laughter stopped.

"Shit, is that who I think it is?"

"That's the Winter Soldier! He's fucking crazy!"

Bucky lifted his head. "There are ten ways to kill all five of you in under fifteen seconds if I don't use the knife," he told them. 

The men ran, trailing their terror behind them, but there were other people staring now, scared of him. Bucky shifted his shoulders, the real one and the one that hurt all the time. He didn't like to be stared at and turned to find his hoodie.

Sam was holding it out for him. "Hey, thanks, man," he said. "You know you didn't have to do that for me, right?"

"Steve says to help people," Bucky told him, though he didn't really feel like talking anymore. People were still staring. He put the hoodie on and draped the hood over his head before turning and stepping into the closest elevator. Sam followed him. 

"Take us to the Avengers common floor, Jarvis," Sam said.

"As you wish, Sir." 

The doors closed and the elevator started to rise. Bucky kept his head lowered inside his hood. Sam was staring at him now and his face was sad.

Bucky could think of eight different ways to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. I wanted it by itself.

Bucky could hear voices arguing when the elevator doors opened and he shuffled out onto the common floor. This part of it was open concept, with different portions made private by use of careful architecture and decorating instead of walls, but even with the excellent acoustics, raised voices carried very well, especially for someone with enhanced hearing.

"I can't believe you're actually trying to defend this, Tony!" Steve shouted. "You own this entire tower! Why did you have to have that idiotic interview on this floor? Now the entire world knows about Bucky! That clip is trending across the entire world!"

"So now they think he's hot," Tony said, sounding sulky. "Big deal. It should be good for his ego."

"They know he's here! We'd agreed to keep him under the radar! Now we have newspapers and skin mags calling to see him and I had to stand in front of an administrative review board this morning and try to convince them that I'm not fucking my best friend!"

Bucky shuffled towards the voices. He liked being around Steve. Even when the fog was at its thickest and he couldn't remember who or what he was, Steve felt real. Steve made him feel real too.

"Yeah? Why aren't you? He's obviously into you."

"God, Tony, for a genius you are incredibly stupid."

They were in one of the four bars on the floor, the small one in the corner. Sam moved up beside him, not touching but trying to herd Bucky in another direction. "Uh, how about we go the other way? I think Thor was watching TV in the media room. Or we could go to the gym or something? How's that sound?"

Bucky walked around him and kept going. 

"Okay, fine," Tony snapped. "So Natasha said she'd kill you if you did. Nat doesn't have to know." 

"Are you trying to convince yourself of that, Stark?"

"Yeah, no. Okay, fine, I'm an asshole. We know that. It's just... weird to think that someone that lethal and with a body like that has basically got the mind of a little kid."

"Hey, everybody!" Sam called out once he decided he wasn't going to stop Bucky. "We're back!"

The two voices stopped immediately and Bucky shuffled around the corner to see them both standing at the ornate bar, Tony behind it where the glasses were and Steve in front. 

"Hey, Buck," Steve said with a smile on his face. "How was your session?"

Bucky shuffled up to him and stopped, peering up at his face. Steve stood there patiently while he gathered his thoughts. "You're sad," he said. 

"I'm not sad," Steve said.

"You always smile like that when you're sad." Steve's expressions were much easier to understand than anyone else's. He stepped forward and put his arms around him. Steve had a suit and tie on, so Bucky slipped his arms underneath the jacket and around his back, tucking his head up beneath his chin. Steve smelled good, of clean musk and fresh air. Bucky breathed it in and closed his eyes.

Steve put his arms around him. "Hey, Buck," he said again, much more softly.

"Want a drink?" Tony asked.

"Hell yes," Sam said. "Ask me about my morning later."

"Right..." There was the sound of pouring liquid.

Bucky ignored them and stayed where he was, eyes closed while he listened to Steve's heartbeat. It was soothing to hear. He rubbed his cheek against his tie, his stubble scratching against the silk. That felt nice so he did it again and pressed closer. He could feel Steve's warmth even through all his layers of clothing and it was good, grounding, so he pressed closer. Heat started to pool in his belly and lower, so he pushed his hips against him.

"Easy, Bucky," Steve whispered into his ear and rubbed circles in his back, scratching with his fingers. He arched his back against that instead and sighed, happy and without a single thought in his mind other than the mantra of Steve Steve Steve and safe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is awesome. I really have to say that.
> 
> ETA: put some of my artwork at the bottom. My attempt at a comic! Maybe I should have reread the chapter before I drew this for the sake of some sort of actual accuracy...

There were pigeons on the ledge that went around the outside of Stark Tower. Three grey ones and one that was a softer brown and white colour. The ledge wasn't much, being only six inches wide and more a way to frame the windows than anything meant for human use, but Bucky didn't mind as he hunched down and wrapped his arms around his knees so he could watch the birds. The pigeons made pleasant cooing noises and whenever they took a step their heads bobbed.

Just on the other side of the window, there was something going on inside. Clint and Sam were both freaking out and flailing their arms and Tony was going for one of his suits until he got distracted by Bruce, who was turning an unhealthy shade of green. Bucky didn't pay much attention; the pigeons were a lot more interesting.

Ahead of him, Natasha strolled around the corner of the building, as nonchalant at being on a six inch ledge ninety-eight stories above the ground as Bucky. Hands behind her back, she sauntered towards him and the pigeons took flight.

Bucky frowned up at Natasha. "You scared 'em away."

"I'm sorry," she said, not that he could tell if she was sorry at all. "Want to help me clean some weapons?"

Bucky perked up at that. He wasn't allowed to have weapons, not that it kept him from sneaking them around anyway, but sneaking meant he had to hide them. Actually being allowed to touch one was a treat. "Sure!" he said, jumping up with a readiness that seemed to have everyone inside flailing again. Natasha just turned and sauntered back the way she'd come, hands still clasped behind her back. Bucky followed. He wasn't entirely sure what he thought of Natasha. He had vague memories of her from before, from the bad times he didn't think about, and he could only come up with two ways to kill her, both of which would also result in his own death. Steve liked her, and so Bucky did.

She took him back inside and towards the communal armoury. Tony nearly tackled him on the way, only skidding to a halt at the doorway and pointing at Bucky with one trembling hand. "Don't you EVER do anything like that to me again! I damn near had a heart attack!" There were thirty ways to kill him, dropping to four if he was in the suit.

"He was looking at the pigeons," Natasha said.

"What?" Tony gasped. "He was what?" He turned and shouted back towards the living room. "He was fucking bird watching!"

"What?" Sam shouted back. "He was fucking doing what? ...Bruce, breathe, come on, man, breathe. Do it with me. In and out, nice and slow. He's fine. No need for the big guy. Just breathe..."

Natasha coded the armoury door and it opened. Inside, she handed Bucky a 9mm pistol and a cleaning kit.

Bucky stripped the pistol down and started to clean the carbon off it while Natasha worked on a rifle. This was good. Weapons were one of the Absolutes in his life. The things where he didn't have to think about them, or rather, try to think. Where he didn't have to worry if his memory was right or that the nightmares he didn't want to remember would come out of the fog. He just knew. How to clean and use weapons, how to fight, how to kill, how deeply he loved Steve. Things like that. They just were, like bedrock, in a way he didn't have the words to explain.

He and Natasha cleaned all of the guns in the armoury, with Clint joining them and sitting at the end of the table fletching arrows. There were five ways to kill Clint. The rest of the Avengers who were in the building - everyone but Steve who'd said he'd be at meetings all day - came by periodically to whisper with Natasha and stare at Bucky. They might even have spoken to him. He wasn't sure. If they did, he didn't bother to hear them.

Natasha didn't say anything until they were on the last few rifles and Clint had wandered off again. It was just the two of them and Bucky wasn't even pondering new ways to kill her anymore.

"You should stay off the ledges," she said as she reassembled a rifle and checked the bolt action. "There are more pigeons on the roof anyway."

"Okay," he said after a few minutes of thought and that was that.

###

Steve was at meetings again for the day. Three hours after his session - Natasha took him this time - Bucky wandered through the common room of the tower, the only floor he had access to other than the floor he had his sessions on, where he had an escort, and the floor he shared with Steve.

Steve had hugged him for a long time when he got home last night, after a talk with Natasha. It had been good. He'd then asked him to stay off the ledges around the building. After being held so nicely for so long, Bucky would have promised him anything.

Now he was bored, enough that he even went into the media room where Thor was sitting on the couch watching television.

Thor made him uncomfortable. No matter how hard Bucky tried, he couldn't come up with a way to kill him.

There was some sort of movie on the screen, something with a lot of talking and old fashioned outfits. Thor smiled over the back of the couch at him. "Good day, son of Barnes. You are well?"

Bucky didn't answer him. On the screen, there was a flare of dramatic music and the picture darkened, only to be replaced with an image of a ski slope and happy, smiling people beaming at the camera. Bucky stared at it.

"Come this winter, come to Rover Slopes, come to the place where everyone is together. Where sorrows fade away and everyone's goals are the same. A freedom you have never imagined before! Forty years in business and five under the current management! Give us a try!"

Thor studied him for a moment, waiting for a reply, and finally sighed. "Forgive me, Son of Barnes. If you wish not to speak, I shall not compel you. I have known many warriors harmed deeply by battle, with wounds that will not heal. There is no shame to it."

On the screen, the commercial changed to one with dancing toilets instead. Bucky looked at Thor. "помогите мне," he said, turned, and wandered back out.

He was going to go outside, he decided, the decision as clear as if he'd said it aloud. Steve would go with him if he asked, but Steve wasn't here and by the time he got home, it would be dark out. Bucky wanted to feel the sun on his face. He wanted to be alone for a while.

He took the elevator back to his floor and went into Steve's bedroom. Jarvis was always watching, but Jarvis was used to him going in there and there was no surveillance in the bedrooms. He was going to get ice cream. Nice, creamy, wintery ice cream.

Bucky reached underneath the mattress and brought out a knife. With it, he jimmied open a panel on his cyborg shoulder and fiddled inside, hissing at the occasion spark, and pulled loose the tracking device Stark put in there when he first repaired the arm. He set the tracker on the pillow he used whenever he slept in there against Steve and then pulled himself up and into the air vents. Jarvis had surveillance in there as well, but dodging surveillance was an Absolute.

Bucky dropped down four floors before he emerged in a men's washroom on the highest of the public floors. Hoodie up, he sashayed with a very different walking style from his usual one to the elevators, being careful never to look at the cameras. A minute later, he was in the front lobby. Twenty seconds later, he was outside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's standard to put translations after the text, but I don't want to, for a lot of reasons. If you really want to know what he said, go to Google Translate. I leave it up to you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. All of you are going to hate me, I'm sure.
> 
> I've never been to New York and I read somewhere that Stark Tower is located at 200 Park Avenue. So this uses copious amounts of Google Street View for the sake of some degree of accuracy.

The sun was wonderful, warm on his face and body even through his hoodie. It was also busy beyond belief. Stark Tower was right next to Grand Central Station and there was a constant influx of people heading in and out of the station while the streets were packed with cars. He could smell car exhaust and a hundred different foods, as well as dozens of different perfumes and colognes.

Bucky started to feel nervous. Everything was so much bigger than he'd thought. The vague memories had him in quieter places, not anything like this. He was supposed to avoid this, didn't belong here, and abruptly all he wanted to do was go back inside and hide in his room until Steve came home.

Bucky crossed the street in front of him, dodging traffic and ignoring the screech of tires and the yelling of drivers. He headed from there down East 44th Street, which seemed quieter, with construction on one side and a parking garage on the other. He was in the shadow of buildings here and the temperature dropped immediately. Bucky hunched his shoulders, hands clenched together in the front pocket of his hoodie. He didn't like the cold and hurried to the next intersection, where Madison Avenue was flooded with warm sunlight but also much busier. 

He hesitated on the corner there, torn between being in the sunlight versus facing the crowds. Finally, he hurried across Madison with the green light and continued down East 44th Street in the shadows, head ducked down and so afraid.

Halfway down the block, he passed a bakery, the smell of the bread reaching out to tantalize him. Bucky swallowed down the saliva that suddenly filled his mouth. His permitted diet was still kind of pathetic, but Bruce did let him have bread and toast to go with all the endless soups. The bread he gave him smelled like this place and Bucky wondered if this was where Bruce bought it. He wanted to go inside and investigate.

He walked to the end of the block instead, past more construction, a Best Buy on the corner, and back into the sunlight next to a sidewalk kiosk selling hats.

He turned left onto Fifth Avenue without thinking about it and hurried down the sidewalk, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight even as his heart pounded double-time in his chest. He wanted to go back. He wanted to see Steve.

Fifth Avenue was much busier than East 44th Street had been, forcing Bucky to keep dodging from side to side in order to avoid bumping into anyone, for fear of what he'd do to them if they touched him. He managed to make it to the next intersection and shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the light to change. Once it did, he all but ran, hurrying past old buildings and glass buildings and trees that were thin and spindly, stretching upwards towards the light.

Everywhere he looked, it seemed there was construction, with clothing and jewellery stores open around the torn up sidewalks and covered walkways. Most of the construction seemed to be on the opposite side of the street from the one Bucky was on, but that meant his sidewalk was full of people and he found himself almost hyperventilating from the effort of not touching anyone. 

He made it almost to the intersection of 5th and East 41st Street without touching anyone until some big bruiser came around the corner, the sort Clint called an 'Alpha Male Douche' who deliberately rammed his shoulder against any man he passed in a smirking display of dominance, leaving complaining men in his wake. Bucky tried to avoid him, but the only way he could dodge would have meant tripping over a tired woman with a baby stroller, and the bully's shoulder smacked against Bucky's left arm.

The startled, injured look on the man's face when flesh and bone slammed against solid metal would have been enough if Bucky weren't already scared and feeling lost. His left arm lashed out without his even consciously thinking about it, metal fingers clamping around the man's bicep and crushing down.

The man shrieked, high and piercing as Bucky mangled muscle and snapped bone. Bucky turned and heaved, feeling the familiar pain in his flesh body where his arm was attached as the man went flying over and into the middle of Fifth Avenue, where cars and trucks immediately started smashing into each other trying to avoid him.

Everyone around Bucky ran, screaming in terror. Bucky ran too, wide-eyed and panicked as he fled along 5th, over East 41st and down the block, outrunning everyone around him with ease. 

The intersection of 5th Avenue and East 40th Street was ahead of him, people on the corner staring in bafflement at the sound of cars colliding back on the last block. There, Bucky skidded to a stop, panting for breath and shivering non-stop.

A van pulled up in front of him, ignoring the green light and the honking behind it. Bucky saw the words "Rover Slopes" painted on the side before the door slid open and he climbed into the dark interior, where he immediately huddled down at the back of the van, arms around his drawn up knees and his face pressed against them. The van started to move, a steady vibration underneath him.

There was the sound of boots and someone knelt in front of him. Fingers tangled in his hair and forced him to look up at a grinning, scarred face.

"Welcome back, Rover," Rumlow grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve took the subway back from the latest segment of the inquest for several reasons. First was the suit he wore, which Pepper had tailored for him when he first received his summons. It was comfortable enough, but not the sort of thing someone wore while driving a motorcycle. Second, New York during rush hour was a nightmare and he was pretty sure that if he'd taken his bike, he'd still be in traffic trying to get to the inquest in the first place.

The third reason was that he just needed some time to decompress, to be surrounded by people who didn't know him and didn't expect anything of him, and just let the frustrations of the day ease out of him. 

There was always the chance that he'd be recognized. He hardly kept his face or name a secret and his image was literally almost everywhere. Still, people were people and focused on their own problems, leaving the baseball cap he pulled low over his face enough cause for most everyone to overlook him.

He reached his stop and trudged out and the few blocks to Avengers Tower, his hands shoved in his pockets. After the day he'd had, he just wanted to have dinner and maybe introduce Bucky to some funny movies. Clint had made up an entire list for them and Tony could access anything. Then tomorrow he'd be back at the inquest, trying to convince a bunch of bureaucrats that Bucky wasn't a danger to anyone and that Steve Rogers was still suitable as an official guardian instead of, say, the military. 

If Bucky was ceded to military control, Steve was going to take him and run.

He walked into the tower lobby and towards the elevators, where he stepped into the first one that he could enter alone. "Jarvis, where is Bucky?" he asked once the doors shut.

"He was last in your quarters, Captain Rogers. I believe he is taking a nap."

Steve smiled. Sleep was good. Bruce said that every time Bucky slept, his brain was able to resort itself and heal just a little bit more. No one was sure how far he'd be able to come back, but every step regained was a blessing. "Take me to my floor, please."

"Of course, Captain."

The elevator rose almost soundlessly and stopped seconds later, so smoothly that Steve barely felt it. He walked out into the living area and tossed his cap onto the couch, along with his jacket while he loosened his tie on the way to his bedroom. He may as well call it 'their' bedroom given how often Bucky used it. Not wanting to wake his friend if he were still sleeping but needing to see him, he quietly opened the door and slipped in.

The bed was empty, still made with precisely straight corners, and Steve crossed the room to pluck the abandoned tracker that used to be inside Bucky's metal arm off of his pillow, his heart hammering triple time in his chest.

A second later, he was back out the door.

###

"Okay, Jarvis has tracked him out of the building. Little fucker used the vents. He's wearing that hoodie he likes and jeans. I hate those vents. I'm pulling them all out and putting in new ones that are an inch wide."

"That is hardly feasible, Sir."

"Quiet, Jarvis. I'm ranting."

Steve stood in the centre of the lab with his arms crossed, eyes moving between dozens of translucent screens that hung in mid air. "Rant later, Tony. Find him."

Tony gave him an exasperated look. "I am. I will. I promise. He probably just went to look at birds or some shit. We'll find him."

"He took out his tracker, Tony. He shouldn't even know that was there."

"I know, I know..."

"Where's he even going?" Clint asked, a troubled look on his face.

Steve didn't answer. He didn't have time for speculations. He wanted facts because facts he could act on, and treating this like a mission was the only thing keeping him from throwing up or becoming hysterical. Bucky could take care of himself. He was the most lethal hand to hand fighter in the world, a sniper Hawkeye would have trouble beating, and the foremost assassin in the world.

He also trusted Steve to take care of him.

Steve let out a low breath and Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "You going to be okay?" he asked. As usual, Sam's focus was on how well Steve was handling this.

"I'm fine," Steve said.

"So, Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, I got that right?"

Steve shook his head. "Not now, Sam. He could be anywhere."

"And he could be right around the block stealing ice cream and making himself sick, which is a lot more likely."

With unfortunately perfect timing, Natasha stormed into the lab, Thor following close behind her. "HYDRA has him."

It was Steve's worst nightmare made real. "What the fuck?" Tony screeched. "How? How'd they even get to him?"

Natasha looked at Steve and crossed the room to one of the main access consoles, gripping hands with Clint for a second as she passed him. Thor stood in the doorway looking sheepish. The rest of them watched Natasha start typing at the computer, everyone there except for Bruce, who was in his room meditating in order to keep control of the big guy.

"I tracked his movements," Natasha said. "The last one of us to see him was Thor."

"I am sorry," Thor said. "I did not realize anything was amiss when he came in." 

"When he came in, nothing was." Natasha brought up a television program, one of those period romances. Steve had watched a few of them. Arms still crossed, Steve studied the screen, withholding any comment until Natasha could finish her report.

"Thor was watching this program. At the time Jarvis records Bucky as being in the room, this commercial came on."

The picture changed to a commercial Steve recognized for a ski slope. "I've seen that commercial before," Clint said. "Its been on all the damn time for weeks."

"But I'll bet my car that it's the first time Bucky saw it." She straightened up and turned to Steve. "It's a coded message, ordering him in. The second he heard it, the Winter Soldier was activated." She paused. "He had no choice, Steve."

That didn't help. It just made Steve feel worse. "We have to find him."

"We will," Nat promised and her expression was gratifyingly brutal. "They have the pick up location in the message. Tony, bring up the traffic cameras for the intersection of 40th Street and 5th Avenue."

"You heard her, Jarvis!"

"As you wish, Sir." The screens changed, showing a somewhat grainy image of an intersection, with cars and people constantly moving. Steve watched the image, eyes narrow, as Nat told Jarvis to rewind the image two hours, to coincide with the airing of the commercial.

That's when Steve saw it, a white van with the words "Rover Slopes" on the side. It circled the block, once, twice, more. On its sixth run through, it stopped and the door opened. A man with Bucky's body type and black hoodie climbed in and the van sped away.

Steve felt a rage inside of him that was familiar, overlaid with a terror he hadn't felt in seventy years. "Track them," he whispered.

###

Three hours later, the van had vanished. In that time, Steve had been to the site where Bucky was kidnapped, and up a block as well, where he'd apparently thrown a man into traffic. That took Steve to the hospital, where he probably scared a decade off the man's life before he was convinced he'd been just a random target and not someone involved with HYDRA.

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's go back to the tower, get some food in us, and find out what the others have learned."

"Don't try to placate me, Sam," Steve told him. "I'm going to murder someone for this."

Sam's expression wasn't happy. "You're not a murderer, Steve."

"I'm whatever it takes to get Bucky back," Steve said.

Still, there was nothing else out here, so Steve and Sam returned to the tower. Tony was in the depths of his lab, he and Jarvis using every asset they had to track that van. It wasn't easy. There was a lot of surveillance in New York City, but it didn't cover everywhere and Bucky's kidnappers knew where the holes were. By now, they'd likely ditched the van and were travelling by some other method, providing they weren't already at one of their damned bases, strapping Bucky down in one of those godawful chairs...

"Clint and I are headed out to hit up our contacts," Natasha said as she loaded a handgun. Clint wasn't far away, prepping his quiver. "See if we can shake something loose that way."

"Keep me informed," Steve said. His throat tightened. "Nat-"

"Don't thank us," she said. "We'll be back. She and the archer left. Tony was still working with his computers, muttering and cursing, and from what Steve heard, Pepper was using her more mainstream contacts to try and learn something about the source of that commercial and who paid for it. Steve just had to wait for them to uncover the first clue, which was the one thing he was worst at doing.

"Captain Rogers," Thor said. Steve turned to the god, who was big enough to remind Steve of what it was like to be the small, shrimpy one. "I have conferred more with Lady Natasha and the Son of Barnes asked for my help before he departed. I failed to recognize that at the time."

Steve swallowed and forced himself to sound calm. "It's okay, Thor. You don't have to apologize."

Thor raised a hand. "You misunderstand. I do wish to apologize, but more importantly, my failure to assist a shield brother in the face of genuine danger incurs upon me a debt of honour that must be discharged. It is my hope to use that debt to request Asgardian assistance."

Steve turned to look at him more directly. He'd heard some of Thor's stories about where he came from and it still seemed to be more science fiction than anything else to him. "What are you saying?"

Thor's face was grave. "On Asgard stands Heimdal, charged with watching for danger. He is capable of seeing all that occurs within the nine realms. He will be able to find Bucky in this world or any other."

Hope hit Steve so hard that it was physically painful. "Then let's go get him!"

"It is not so simple. Heimdal is not permitted to interfere in the affairs of any world bar Asgard. For that, I must go to my father and beg his permission to task Heimdal. It is my hope that with the debt I now bear, my father will agree, if only to cancel any obligation of the throne towards a mortal."

He looked somewhat embarrassed by that. Steve didn't care. "Let's go." Thor's eyebrows rose. "I'm going," Steve told him. If he stayed here, he'd go mad. He'd get this Heimdal's help if he had to beg on his knees and sell his soul.

Thor looked unhappy with that, but even as the royal prince of Asgard, he had agreed when he joined the Avengers that he would obey Steve's commands as if he were his liege. So he only bowed his head in acquiescence. "As you wish, Captain."

"I'm going too," Sam said. Steve looked at him. "Fuck you," Sam told him. "I'm going. So don't waste time arguing."

Steve nodded. He was already in uniform with his shield on his back. All of them were, except for Tony in sweats and a t-shirt, who probably didn't even notice them leaving, his attention on his computers as he ranted and stretched his electronic fingers as far as he could in his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the Russian word Bucky said to Thor a few chapters ago was "help".
> 
> Now they're off to Asgard to talk to Odin!
> 
> Why, yes....yes, I have seen Thor 2. Why do you ask? >.>


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, another short chapter. I'd have combined it with the next chapter, but that one has a POV change and I suspect will be longer.
> 
> Anyway, here's Bucky.

Bucky didn't know where he was. He'd had a sack tied over his head, the weave thick enough that it was hard to breathe, and his arms were encased in adamantium cuffs behind his back. They covered his hands, holding all his fingers and thumbs straight and away from each other, and climbed up past his elbows to just underneath his armpits. The muscles in his back ached from the constant tension and his flesh shoulder felt as if it were almost dislocated. The scarring at the edge of his metal arm was tearing in a few place from the pressure andhe could smell blood. His legs were bound as well, only a few inches of chain left between his ankles so that he could walk.

Rumlow's men didn't give him that option. Wherever it was that they took him, when the van stopped, he was dragged out of it by hands that gripped him underneath his arms, and they continued to drag him until he was dumped on a concrete floor and the bag yanked off his head.

He was in a garage, huddled in a corner and blinking up at a dozen men in black. His heart started pounding even faster. He only recognized Rumlow, in a faint, deja vu sort of way. The other men were strangers to him, but regardless of his memory loss, he knew HYDRA when he saw it.

For the first time since Steve told him that he could be Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier, Bucky wanted that feeling of being dead inside, of being immune to fear and doubt. He wasn't anymore. Steve and the others had cultivated emotions in him and they'd taken root in him, seeding in all the dark corners the scientists thought they burned black. He'd liked that, revelled in it even as it confused him, but now? Now he cowered, afraid to even look them in the eye, not even to assess ways to kill them. There were no ways to kill them. They were a HYDRA strike team and all Bucky could do in the face of their orders was try not to cry and obey.

"This is the Winter Soldier?" one of them asked, his tone incredulous. He took a step forward and kicked Bucky hard in the ribs. "This is the Hand of HYDRA?"

Rumlow backhanded the man almost casually. "Asshole." He stared down at Bucky, one side of his face clean lined and solemn, the other side red and raised with scar tissue. His voice was slightly slurred. "Looks like playing house with Captain America's made our boy weak." He lifted his chin. "Hey, doc! Get over here!"

Bucky was afraid of the Strike Team, but he whined in pure terror as a smaller man in a white lab coat scurried forward. The scientists were the ones who caused the pain, the pain that never stopped, that was never forgotten, even through the endless wipes and the freezing. 

"Go away!" he found himself shouting, actually yelling at a HYDRA scientist, and saw the man recoil in surprise. "Leave me alone!"

"Fascinating," the scientist said and crouched down. Bucky curled into himself as much as he could, as if he could actually hide from him that way.

"What's fascinating?" Rumlow asked. "He's turned into a pussy. I thought he was supposed to be a robot."

"He is." The man grabbed Bucky's hair and pulled his head up so he could see his face. Bucky tried to pull away, but it hurt and Rumlow gave him a warning kick in the leg that nearly put his thigh muscle into spasm. 

"He hasn't been wiped in months," the scientist said, orating even while the Strike team looked bored. "The longest he ever went before this is fourteen days and that led to so many complications. But this? This is unprecedented." He twisted Bucky's head from side to side, seemingly fascinated by his tears. "He's actually developing a nascent personality."

"What the fuck's that?" Rumlow asked.

"He's becoming a person." The scientist laughed. "Like a child would, only much more rapidly, I would suspect. If we leave him alone to develop, I think he'd actually become a fully functioning adult."

"We gonna do that?" Rumlow sounded dubious.

The doctor sighed, almost in regret. "No. HYDRA needs the Winter Soldier, not another thinking individual. Plus there's no telling how much influence the Avengers have had on his earliest development." He let go of Bucky's hair and stood, wiping his hands off on his coat and ignoring Bucky's frantic pleas.

"No no no no, please, no, please, oh please, no..."

"This new personality is very new, nowhere near as strong as the original one. With the chair we have now, one wipe should be enough to destroy it."


	7. Chapter 7

The trip from Earth to Asgard was unlike anything Steve ever expected. For one, it started on the roof of Stark Tower, which Steve followed Thor to along with Sam, expecting to be picked up by some sort of alien transport.

"Be not afraid," Thor told them both once they were standing on a clear area of patio near where Stark usually landed in his suit.

"Yeah, not the thing to say to keep us from being nervous," Sam disagreed. Steve didn't say anything.

Thor smirked and looked up. "Heimdal," he called in no more than a normal voice. "Open the Bifrost."

A column of light punched down, on and around them before even Steve could react, and suddenly they were moving, racing through a twisting tunnel of rainbow light where Steve could see entire galaxies flickering past between the lines of colour and hear Sam's shout of "Holy Fuuuuuu-"

Then they were in a huge, circular chamber that seemed to be made out of solid gold, ornate and alien, the architecture beautiful in a way Steve had never seen before. Behind them, a circular opening in the wall looked out on galaxies and swirling pools of gas while ahead a great archway let to a bridge made of translucent, rainbow coloured light. It led to an immense city which gleamed gold in the light.

"Holy shit," Sam said.

Steve felt much the same way. He'd thought that his first view of the modern New York was overwhelming. Asgard was nearly beyond imagining.

"My Prince," a new voice said and Steve looked towards the centre of the room. A dais stood there, a heavily built man with black skin and golden armour standing on top of it with a massive sword held point down between his hands. The irises of his eyes were a brilliant gold, even brighter than his armour. "Welcome back," he said.

"Thank you, Heimdal," Thor said.

This was Heimdal? Steve sucked in a breath. This was the man who could find Bucky for them. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Asgardian fixed those golden eyes on him.

"Captain Rogers. Welcome to Asgard. I know what you would ask, but my orders are clear. I may not assist you."

Steve closed his mouth with a disappointed nod. This was why they had to go to Odin, he reminded himself. 

"Look, can you tell us if he's alive?" Sam asked. Heimdal looked towards him and Sam shrugged. "Telling us that much doesn't help all that much, does it? Sure doesn't help us find him."

Steve couldn't be positive, but there looked to be a flicker of amusement in Heimdal's face. "I cannot guess as to my liege's wishes," he said. "It may be that he would be content with my informing you that the man you seek is frightened and hurt, but alive. Yet it would be a violation of my duty to do so without his agreement."

Steve sucked in a breath. Did he just tell them...?

Thor laughed. "Thank you, Heimdal. We hope to be back with my father's leave soon."

Heimdal bowed his head. "As you say, my prince. Be cautious. Do not forget your father's opinion towards mortals in the streets of Asgard."

"Never," Thor promised.

He turned with a sweep of his cloak and strode towards the bridge. Sam followed him, looking around. Steve shot a look at Heimdal. "Thanks," he said, but Heimdal was no longer looking at him and didn't answer, staring instead out at the space beyond his dais. Steve hurried after Thor.

"Thor!" Along the bridge, four horseman galloped towards them, leading three spare mounts. 

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "We're riding horses? Seriously?"

Thor waved at the still distant riders and turned to Steve and Sam. "Captain, I must be frank. I have sworn myself as your man while on Earth, but that must not be so here. I have turned down the crown of Asgard, but that does not make me any less my father's heir. As the Crown Prince of Asgard, I must show deference to no one save my father. You must not give me anything that may be construed as an order by any Asgardian while we are here or it will be seen as a grave insult. Be not afraid, though. My goal is still the same as yours."

Steve nodded. "That's fair. Thanks for telling me. I'll be sure to follow your lead."

"Thank you." Thor bowed his head. "Be careful to show the proper obeisance to my father as well. The power of rule held by the Asgardian royal family is unlike anything on your Earth in modern days and very contrary to your America's belief system. My father's authority is absolute and must be respected."

"Don't worry, Thor," Steve said. "I'm not here to try and irritate anybody."

"Me neither," Sam promised.

By then, the riders had arrived, three men of very different builds and armour styles and a woman also in armour. Steve recognized all of them, having seen the footage of the battle in New Mexico. Thor's best friends, he thought to himself and felt another pang for Bucky.

Thor turned to them, beaming as they dismounted and crushed him in a hug. "My friends! It is good to see you!"

"Heimdal sent word you were coming," grinned a blond man with a twirled moustache. "And bringing friends too."

"Should we be hurt you're throwing us over?" laughed a huge man with red hair who made even Thor seem small.

"Never," Thor said. He broke free of their grip and turned. "Friends, meet my shield brothers. Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Both honourable men and mighty warriors. These are my oldest friends. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg, the Warriors Three, and the Lady Sif."

"Oldest friends and fellow troublemakers," Fandral corrected, gripping Steve's wrist in a greeting he felt even with his super strength.

"Good to meet you," Steve smiled. 

"Yeah, good to meet you," Sam added. "I've heard stories."

"And you'll hear more while you're here!" Volstagg roared. "We shall have a feast!"

Sif pursed her lips. "I think they are not here for parties."

Thor strode towards the horses, tall, handsome animals with glossy coats and ornate tack. "Indeed. We must have an audience with my father immediately."

"Then so you shall!" Fandral cheered, with as much joy as he had everything else he'd said. 

That was how Steve found himself seated on the back of a chestnut horse, galloping up the length of the bridge and straight through the city at a pace significantly faster than he'd thought a horse could actually run. He wasn't sure. He'd never actually ridden a horse before and it was significantly harder on certain portions of his anatomy than his motorcycle had ever been. He didn't know for sure what to do with the reins either, but the horse kept pace with the other animals.

"My poor ass," Sam moaned. 

"Poor thing," Sif teased. "Do you need it to be kissed and made better?"

Sam grinned at her. "Maybe if you're the one doing the kissing."

Steve ignored their flirting. The bridge was elevated all the way though the city, passing by over the top of most of the buildings and towards the front of an utterly massive castle that kind of reminded him of a ziggurat. Like everything else, the exterior of it was golden, gardens growing all around it and the gleam of lakes and rivers with water crashing down between levels. 

Sensitive to their mission, Thor didn't offer to give them any tours of the palace but strode down a corridor after they left the horses where armed men stood at attention between each of the immense columns that held up the ceiling. The detailing of the architecture and decorations was unbelievable, but Steve barely saw it. If Heimdal had been speaking the truth and giving them what little information he dared, then Bucky was alive. Steve had suspected that. He wasn't any use to HYDRA dead. But Heimdal said he was frightened and hurt as well. 

The frightened part made Steve's heart ache, but it was understandable. Fear had been the first emotion to come back to Bucky. Of course HYDRA would frighten him. But that he was hurt... had they tortured him? Wiped him again? If they hadn't, they surely would be about to. Steve matched strides with Thor, careful to keep a pace back at the quick look the blond man gave him. He'd play this game to get the information they needed. He'd play whatever game Odin wanted.

Thor led them to a set of massive doors that Steve doubted a tank could blast through and he put his hands on them both as he looked back at them. "Follow my lead, speak only when spoken to. Kneel when I do, but if I rise, do not. Only rise if the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three do."

"Understood," Steve said. 

"Got it," Sam agreed.

Thor shoved the doors open. They were thick, almost five feet wide, but he pushed them wide as if they had no weight and they were probably counterweighted so well that they didn't. On the other side was a throne room, immense and columned, darkly appointed with tapestries and carvings. On the far end was a multi-stepped dais leading up to a throne on which a white bearded man with one eye sat, one hand gripping the haft of a heavy staff.

Thor strode forward and everyone followed him, their steps echoing on the marble floor. Odin watched them approach, saying nothing and with his face impassive, his single eye lacking any expression. Thor walked to the very base of the dais and dropped gracefully to one knee. Immediately, the others dropped down as well. Steve lowered his head but kept his eyes up, watching from under his eyelashes, his throat dry.

"Greetings, my Father," Thor intoned. "I have returned."

"Yes, my son," Odin said after a moment. His voice was resonant and rich, deeper even than Thor's. "Welcome always are you before the throne. But why do you bring mortals here? Is not the destruction that occurred on Asgard the last time you brought a mortal here sufficient?"

Steve watched Thor's fist tighten next to his thigh. "The circumstances are different, Father. I bring my Earthly Shield Brother here to beg a boon of the throne."

"Beg a boon," Odin repeated, sounding almost amused. Steve found himself very much not liking him. Odin, he suspected, knew exactly why they were there. With Heimdal to spy for him, he had to. "What is this boon, my son?"

"To task Heimdal to locate a single man on Earth, Father, no more."

Odin settled back on his throne. "The fate of a single man is of no concern to Asgard, my Son. You know that."

Steve sucked in a breath, the urge to say something almost overwhelming. He barely held it in as Thor stood. "Father, It is a note of minor import to the throne. A moment of time. A sentence. I owe the man we look for. His current danger is due to my negligence." 

"And so you feel that you can manipulate the throne." Odin barked a laugh and stood. "You have grown tricky in your time amongst these mortals." He brought the base of his staff down against the ground and what should have been a gentle tap boomed throughout the throne room. "Leave me," he said.

"Father-" Thor started.

Odin raised a hand. "All but the Captain who accompanies you. Obey me, my son. I wish to confer with this human you choose to obey like a servant as if I weren't aware of it in privacy."

Thor looked towards Steve. Remembering Thor's admonition to do nothing that could be construed as ordering the crown prince, Steve didn't move, but Thor saw whatever he wanted to in his face. "As you say, Father."

"I do." Odin stood on the dais, watching impassively as Thor and the others rose and exited the room. Steve remained kneeling, head down even past when he heard the throne room doors close.

Odin studied him for a long moment, standing at the top of his dais stairs. "You are not normally a man who kneels," he said at last.

Steve licked his lips. "No, your majesty, I'm not. It's not something people in my country do."

Odin came down the stairs, his gaze never leaving Steve. "Then why do so now?" He reached the bottom and walked over to Steve, lowering the heavy head of his staff down and underneath Steve's chin, forcing it up.

Steve looked straight at him. "I choose to kneel, your majesty," he said. "As a gesture of respect for the help I ask."

"Ah." Odin moved the staff away and circled him, his boots clicking on the marble. Steve continued to kneel, eyes forward. "For the location of your James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes." Steve shot a look at him. Odin chuckled. "Oh, I know. I know of your man. I know of the chaos in his soul and the longing in yours. I see everything." He finished circling and stood in front of him again, looking down. "So tell me why I should help you."

"The debt that Thor-"

"The debt that Thor occurred by being an oblivious twat, yes, yes, I know of it." Steve blinked at that. "Thor is a young man. His indiscretions behoove the throne of Asgard to do absolutely nothing. If they did I would still be paying off the idiocies of his toddlerhood. Tell me why I should help YOU."

Steve looked up at him. "I'll give you whatever you want. Whatever is in my power to give."

"Vagueness will grant you no boons, here, Captain. What does a mortal have that would benefit the throne of Asgard?"

Steve closed his eyes. "Nothing but my loyalty. My sworn oath to be your man, if you want me to." 

"For how long?"

"The rest of my life, if I have to."

"The rest of your life." Odin circled him again, leaving Steve with an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades whenever the god was behind him. "I think you are unaware of how long the life of a super soldier can be."

"It doesn't matter," Steve said. "Myself is all I have to give."

Odin walked in front of him and stopped once more. "All for the sake of one broken man."

"Yes," Steve swallowed.

The end of the staff dipped under his chin again. "Then say it, mortal. Swear your allegiance to me for all eternity and I shall give you the location of this man you profess to love."

This was so much worse than Steve hoped, but he'd already promised himself he'd give his soul for Bucky. It was only the least of what he could do, given how Bucky gave his life for him. "I swear," he said.

"I swear my allegiance," Odin prompted.

"I swear my allegiance," Steve repeated. He could feel something heavy settling down around him, something more than just words spoken in the air.

"Yes," Odin grinned. "Go on."

Steve took a deep breath. "I swear my allegiance to Odin-"

The staff pushed his chin up more. "No, not to Odin. Swear it to me." 

Steve gaped at him in confusion. "What?"

"I swear my allegiance to you," Odin hissed. "Say it and by this time tomorrow you can have your cock in your lover if you so choose."

Steve flushed red. He would never. Not to Bucky, not when Bucky was sick and couldn't understand. "I swear my allegiance to you," he choked out anyway and Odin grinned, his smirk widening as his form shimmered and changed.

"Perfect," Loki purred.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve stared up at Loki in horrified shock. The god didn't look as he had when Steve last saw him free on Earth. He wasn't sweat soaked and wild-eyed, eyes darting everywhere as he looked for an escape. Nor was he shaking and tense, flinching as he waited for a blow none of the Avengers gave him once he was caught. Now he was well groomed and healthy, poised and regal, his green eyes sparkling with utter glee when he looked down at Steve.

"Loki?" he gasped, his voice strangled, and jumped to his feet, opening his mouth to shout for Thor and his friends. Loki was supposed to be dead. Thor told all of them that he was killed in a battle on some world dimensions away from Earth. His grief about it had been real.

Loki raised a slender finger. "Don't," he said.

Without his meaning to, Steve's mouth clamped shut. He stared at Loki, who twirled his hand until he stood with it palm up in an almost apologetic manner, if only he hadn't been smirking. "You're sworn to me, Captain," he reminded him. "You will tell no one who I am, that I am here, nothing." 

Steve was an idiot, but he'd worry about that later. "You're supposed to be dead," he said, noting that at least Loki's order didn't prevent Steve from speaking to him.

"Yes, I am," Loki grinned. "What a fantastic way to make a new start."

"As the King of Asgard?" Steve snapped.

Loki paced up the steps back to the throne and sat down, slouching with legs spread, Odin's staff laid across his knees. "Of course. This is what I was born for, and I do a much better job at it than that stagnant old fool who called himself my father or my idiot buffoon of a not-brother."

That did bring up a question. "Where is Odin?"

Loki just smirked. "That would be telling." He leaned forward. "Come now, Captain. You're getting everything you wanted. I'll have Heimdal tell you where your lost lover is, and no, before you ask, Heimdal cannot see this little conversation of ours."

"I'm, I'm not Bucky's lover," Steve said.

"Oh, but you want to be. I can smell it on you. I know lust, Captain. It's so perfectly chaotic and consuming, and you burn with it. You want that man. You want to taste him with lips and tongue, pierce him with cock, feel him cry out into your mouth and cling to you. Don't deny it."

Steve burned with red embarrassment again, but also with anger. "What do you want with me?"

Loki laughed. "What do I want? Why, the greatest thing you can give me, Captain." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, not to overthrow your precious Avengers or take over your paltry planet. I have the authority I want here and Asgard is flourishing under it." He licked his lips. "No, Captain, I want you to be my audience."

"What?"

Loki spread his arms. "You are the witness to my victory, Captain! I, Loki of Asgard, have won Asgard! No more stagnation, no more lies!"

"Just the lie you're telling," Steve said.

"A necessary deception." Loki settled down again. "To keep my people content with familiarity. Merely a role I put on as far as I am concerned. Like any king." He tilted his head to one side. "Knowing should not be too onerous a duty for you."

"You're asking me to lie."

"I'm ordering you to lie," Loki corrected, "and by your own willing oath, you are bound to it. Is it not worth it, to find your lost love? Now you can go back to moulding him into whatever you wish him to be."

"I'm not moulding him into anything," Steve said.

Loki laughed, tossing his head back. "Of course you are. Who wouldn't, with such a golden opportunity laid before them? He's a blank slate. A newly stretched canvas. Unworked stone. He'll be whoever you wish him to be and thank you for it. Such power!"

"I'm not making Bucky be anything," Steve told him. "He's developing into a person again all on his own. I won't get in the way of that."

The god's lips pursed. "But surely you wish him to be the man you knew before?"

Steve shook his head. "I just want him to be happy and healthy, to be free. To be his own man."

"And what if he becomes a man who does not love you, Captain?" Loki hissed.

Steve shrugged, hiding within the pain he couldn't deny to himself, even as he worked to hide it from Loki. "Then I let him go. I'll always love him, but I won't be his jailor." 

Loki leaned back in his stolen throne and studied him, no expression on his face but tension in his body. Steve stared right back. He didn't know if what he said disturbed Loki in some way, but he wasn't going to lie to make him happy unless he was forced to. He did love Bucky, with every part of him, and if he had to, he would let him go.

"You're not lying," Loki murmured and stroked the staff in his lap for a few minutes of silence. "You are a very strange creature, Captain," he said at last. He shimmered and Odin sat there again. "Heimdal will find your Bucky Barnes for you. I will call should I have need of you."

He snapped his fingers and the doors behind him opened, letting Thor and the others back in. Steve forced himself to give a bow, eyes never leaving the god on the throne. He wanted to warn Thor, but he couldn't. Something inside blocked him from saying anything about it and he was pretty sure Loki had created his spell to stop any sort of communication from happening.   
Then there were the same flowery obeisances that seemed to be standard for Asgard, only Steve now knew that Thor was bowing to his brother without knowing it. Steve felt numb as 'Odin' gave his decree that Heimdal was to tell them where Bucky was and send them back to Earth immediately, as close to that location as he could. Minutes later, they were hurrying back out of the throne room and through the palace to their horses, all of them moving at a quick jog.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked as he ran at Steve's side. "You're seriously pale."

"Yes," Steve said, wanting to tell him exactly who was hiding on that throne. "It was... intense."

"The All-father can be overwhelming," Thor assured him. "Be not ashamed."

Oh, he was ashamed all right. Steve suspected he'd be ashamed for the rest of his life. 

They reached the horses and galloped back to the bifrost. Thor apologized for not being able to show them Asgard's true hospitality, but Steve hoped he never had to see Asgard again. All he wanted was to find Bucky and hold him, promise him that he'd never be in danger again and this time be able to actually mean it, even while he knew that was a lie. He couldn't make Bucky completely safe unless he caged him, but he'd make him as safe as he could without doing that. He'd sold his soul for him after all.

Heimdal waited for them when they reached the bifrost. "I heard the All-father's decree," he said. "I see the man you search for. I will land the bifrost outside of the place where he is held."

"Thank you, Heimdal," Thor said. "The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif will accompany us. Your friend will be free."

"A fight's even better than a party!" Fandral cheered.

"Of course it is!" Volstagg said. "More blood! Sometimes less mead."

"The way you fight, certainly," Sif teased.

Hogan said nothing, only smiling.

Steve wasn't foolish enough to protest their presence. He'd never fought with them, but he'd seen those videos and if Thor vouched for them, he'd accept them. "Heimdal," he called. "What do you see? What's Bucky's condition?"

Heimdal turned those golden eyes on him and the gravity in them felt like a stab to Steve's heart. "You must hurry, Captain. I can see your friend even now."

"What's happening to him?" Steve whispered.

Heimdal bowed his head. "Even as we speak, he is being taken to a chair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like there are some parallels between Steve and Bucky and Thor/Odin and Loki. I've always been part of the school that Loki was tortured by Thanos (given he seems to torture everyone and Loki underwent a serious personality change between movies). So in a way, he was made as much a weapon as Bucky. The reaction of their loved ones to this was quite different.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor little, defenceless *cough* Bucky.

They dragged Bucky into another room and in the centre stood the steel and leather chair used for the mind wipes.

"Come on, you big baby," Rumlow growled, holding him underneath one of his bound arms while he struggled and wailed. "One head splitting migraine and you're back to being a good little tool."

"Hey, doc," the man holding Bucky's other arm laughed. "Can you add a cock sucking setting to him? Damn, he's got fine lips."

"Don't be gross," the doctor said, not even looking back at them as he walked ahead, flipping through a folder.

They were going to wipe him again. It was going to hurt hurt hurt hurt, oh it would hurt so bad... he'd forget Steve. Forget everything. The doctor said he had a new personality growing. It'd die in that chair. HE'D die in that chair and it would just be his body running around, killing people because he was told to, whether he wanted to or not. There would be no want. He wouldn't even care.

"So what's the plan with him, doc?" Rumlow asked. "Freeze him and get the fuck out of New York?"

"No. This is too golden an opportunity. Our orders are to wipe him and send him back to the Avengers."

"Oh, hell, that'll be bloody," Rumlow laughed.

"Yes," the doctor agreed. "We'll likely lose him, but if he kills even a third of the Avengers, it'll be worth the loss." 

They wanted him to kill Steve? Natasha? Tony? Clint? He couldn't kill Bruce or Thor, but he knew the ways to kill the others, all the different ways to take them down, no matter the cost to himself. 

The fog rose up around Bucky, trying to pull him down into that grey space where everything was soft and muted and he was away from the pain. He fought it, harder than he ever had before. If he gave in now, he'd never leave and he had to do something.

He couldn't fight the Strike team, his orders always said not to. They were strong, dangerous, the epitome of HYDRA values, the strong over the weak, the perfect and the devout. 

The doctor, though... he was older and scrawny, shoulders hunched and jowls loose, hands soft and spotted. No exercise, no combat training. Not a spot of blood sprayed directly onto his face in his life, never a weapon other than science in his hands. A necessary evil for HYDRA but lower than the soldiers or those who led from the front. Not a handler, not a master. Like the psychiatrist in the Tower; someone who was inferior and therefore someone who was easily discarded. Someone who fit into a loophole in his programming that no one in seventy years realized was there. The Winter Soldier sometimes killed his maintainers. It was just a factor to be taken into consideration, therefore the maintainers were never anyone important and no one cared when they died. So the loophole was reinforced.

Bucky threw his torso back against his captors' grip and swung his legs up in the air. He was still chained at the ankles, but there was a bit of a gap there, enough that when he spread his knees, he was able to get his legs over the head of the scientist. The man yelped in surprise as Rumlow started to bellow at him to let him go.

Bucky wrenched his legs and hips hard to one side and everyone heard the scientist's neck and spine break.

Rumlow and the other man dropped him, his legs still entangled around the dead man. All of the mercs were shouting and yelling, screaming curses and kicking at Bucky's sides and head. Again he wanted to retreat, he was so scared and he hurt so much, but they'd just call for another scientist, someone else to burn him out in the chair. He couldn't hurt Steve. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't...

Wouldn't.

He wouldn't hurt Steve.

Bucky freed his legs from around the dead scientist's neck and spun on his back, ignoring the pain in his bound arms or his exposed fingers. Rumlow jumped back with a curse, but they were at the doorway to the room and the man who'd been on Bucky's other side and joking about how he wanted to use his mouth didn't have enough room. Bucky swept his legs out from under him and as the man was falling, he swung them completely around and brought his heels down onto the man's chest with all the super strength the knock-off serum he carried gave him. The man's sternum shattered and his eyes bugged out, mouth wide in a breathless gasp as bone pierced through his heart.

"Holy fuck!" someone shouted and they sounded afraid.

He would do this. He would do this until they killed him because he wasn't going to hurt any of the people that Steve promised him were his family. Then everything would be dark and soft and safe and he wouldn't see Steve anymore, but if there was a Heaven and he got to go after everything he'd done, there wouldn't be any nightmares either. 

Bucky spun on his back again, building up momentum as flesh fingers broke underneath him from the pressure of his own weight. He barely felt it and certainly didn't care as he swung his legs up and brought them down, bent at the knees at the same time he arched his back, and he jumped from a prone position on his back to standing on both feet, not even swaying for balance as he took in the men in front of him. Six of them, all armed, all shocked by what Bucky just did, Rumlow behind him and out of sight, one man closer than the others and stepping through the doorway, weapon's muzzle pointed away from the Winter Soldier they were supposed to contain and not kill.

Bucky jumped into the air and kicked with both feet, shattering the man's jaw and possibly his skull. He fell back against the others, knocking them down in the narrow corridor outside the room.

"Fuck this," a voice hissed from behind him and Bucky gasped as an electrical shock rod was jammed into his side. It felt like the entire room was shaking as pain arced through him, trying to lock his muscles in place. Teeth gritted against the feeling, he turned his head to see Rumlow glaring from inches away, both hands pushing the rod against Bucky with all his strength, his face a rictus nightmare that belonged in Hell.

Bucky head butted him in the face. Rumlow staggered back, shock rod flying as he howled in pain and surprise, blood everywhere. Bucky jumped again, not as high as before - he was getting tired, he couldn't keep this up much longer, he couldn't stop them all bound like this - and kicked him in the stomach. Rumlow crashed into the chair, head smacking against the padded back. There was an alarm going off overhead now, lights flashing red and who knew how many more of them there were, how many were coming. He could even hear them, heavy boots on concrete as if giants were charging down the hall. 

He still had time to kill Rumlow. Bucky hopped towards him, awkward in such a simple move bound the way he was, and Rumlow gave him a look of pure hatred.

"Fuck you anyway," he said as he pulled his gun and shot him.

Bucky didn't really feel the bullet hit his body, too pumped on adrenaline. He felt the hard cement of the floor under his cheek more as he lay on his front and gasped, his flooding lungs still trying to draw air. Rumlow stood, wiping blood off his ruined face with one hand as he staggered over and aimed his gun point blank at Bucky's head.

He shot him again, the bullet going straight though his skull and killing him instantly. 

At least, that's what Bucky thought when he saw Steve's red, white and blue shield go flying over him and into Rumlow, throwing him back; when Steve charged into the room in full uniform, accompanied by a gang of vikings of all things. It had to be Heaven, or at least a weirder variant of it than Bucky had been expecting, but everything was still soft and bright, fading out as Steve knelt beside him and rolled him over, saying something Bucky couldn't hear. 

Still, he smiled, happy. A fuzzy, barely recalled, intermittent memory said to follow the light and the light had always been in Steve's eyes.

Bucky closed his own eyes and followed it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to sad classical music tonight and started to feel all maudlin.
> 
> So I made my characters' lives hell!
> 
> Yeah, if you don't want the sad feels, you can skip this chapter. Truly. If you're not sure if it'll trigger you and want to know ahead of time, read the end note.

An hour before noon, three weeks after Bucky was rescued, Bruce Banner carried a covered tray down one of the corridors inside Stark Tower. Juggling it in one hand outside of a particular door, he opened it and let himself into what could have been an ICU room in any of America's top hospitals. From where he sat next to the bed in a desk chair someone had wheeled in, Steve looked up at him, his eyes dark from shadow, his face gaunt.

"Thanks," he whispered as he took the tray. Bruce nodded and crossed back to the other side of the bed so he had room to check on its occupant. Bucky lay propped up in the bed, dressed in a backless blue hospital gown, his hair spread over the pillow. His mouth was open around the endotrachial tube that kept air flooding in and out of his lungs and nasogastric tubes went down his nose and into his stomach to provide food. The numerous machines around the bed that were keeping him alive and recording every last pulse of life in him were slow and steady, not showing any changes when Bruce peeled open one of his eyes and waved a penlight across his pupil. There was no response. 

"Is he doing better?" Steve asked, that note of eternal hope in his voice that just made Bruce hurt nowadays. Instead of answering, he lifted the covers away at the foot of the bed to expose Bucky's bare foot. A pin poked against the sole of his foot garnered no more response than the penlight had.

"He's not doing better," Steve said.

Bruce forced himself to look at him, wishing for once that it was grief and not rage that brought the other guy, just so he wouldn't have to say to Steve what all of them were already thinking. "I'm sorry, Steve. I spent the morning conferring with experts across the world, plus the doctors we brought in here. They... nobody thinks he's going to recover."

Steve closed his eyes and Bruce hated himself. He'd branched out of medicine to the harder sciences because he loathed this. The thought of fighting a war for someone's life and losing. Of coming to the point where not all the skill in the world or all of Tony Stark's money could make a difference.

Rumlow had been too precise, with a perfect centre of mass shot that took Bucky though both the lung and heart. He never should have even made it to surgery, but once they put him on life support, his body had just given up fighting. Too badly wounded, the experts said. Too much blood lost. Too much old damage.

Too little reason to stay in the world after everything that had been done to him.

Steve scrubbed at his eyes. "He shouldn't be like this. He has the Serum in him."

"Not Erskine's serum," Bruce reminded him. "Zola was no Erskine, we know that. His serum just, I guess it works in different ways than yours."

Steve swallowed, blinking rapidly, and reached out to grasp Bucky's hand. "I read some of the files on him we took out of that base. Whenever he got hurt, those bastards would just leave him to suffer and get better on his own. They didn't care how much he hurt while he did. They gave him nothing. I'd give him all the serum in my body if I thought it would help. I can't even do that. Different blood types." He gave a bitter laugh that didn't last long. His gaze never left Bucky's face. "I thought everything was going to be okay, that I could survive in this century with all these changes, because I got him back. Even hurt like he was." He exhaled a low breath. "Bucky would never want to live like this."

Bruce hated medicine. Hated it. "What are you going to do?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm not going to let my best friend die in a hospital bed," he said, and Bruce couldn't believe his strength. He turned then to look at Bruce and his gaze was pure soldier, with nothing left for personal feelings. "Tonight. Bucky's a city boy, so I'll take him up to the roof and stay with him. He loves the view up there."

Bruce nodded, not trusting his voice for a minute. "I'll go tell the others, so they can come by." Steve nodded and returned his attention to Bucky while Bruce let himself out. It took a while before Bruce actually told anyone of Steve's decision, but he figured he'd forgive him for the need to go back to his quarters first and cry.

***

Steve didn't leave Bucky's side for a second. He sat there and held his hand, whispering stories of their share childhood together to him, even though Bucky was too deep to hear him. The others came to see him throughout the afternoon. 

Clint didn't say anything. He stood at the foot of the bed and just looked at Bucky, his face as hardened as Steve felt. Finally he turned to Steve and nodded, a gesture that Steve returned. He came back later that day as well, putting a cup of cocoa beside Steve and clapping him on the shoulder before leaving.

Natasha gave Steve a hug before she stretched her small body out on the bed next to Bucky and whispered into his ear in Russian. Steve didn't ask her what she said, just held his hand until she finished and kissed him on his forehead, above all the wires and tubes.

"We're here when you need us," she told Steve. "All of us."

"Thank you," he replied.

Tony stormed in about halfway through the day like it was an inconvenience, covered in grease and looking like Pepper dragged him out of his workshop by his ear, which she probably had. "Hey," he muttered, rubbing his hands clean on his jeans, which didn't do much good as they were as dirty as the rest of him. "Just thought I'd drop by." 

"Thanks, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, well." He spent the first few minutes looking anywhere but at Bucky, but finally he seemed to force himself to. He looked and his face twisted. "Fuck, he's so young. God damnit, you stupid, stupid kid. What the fuck are we doing, sending babies to war?"

Steve managed a bit of a smile. "He's hardly a baby, Tony. He's older than you are. And it seems like babies have been fighting wars since time began."

"Yeah, well you octogenarians have been getting younger every goddamn year." He looked at Steve. "You know, he can stay here. I got no problem keeping this room up to date for him."

Steve shook his head. "This isn't living, Tony. This is... I have to let him go." His voice cracked on the last word and he cleared his throat. 

"Okay, well, yeah, I gotta go." Tony stomped towards the door, rubbing at his face with his greasy hands. "A baby. Just a fucking baby."

Thor came last, only an hour before sunset, bearing a mug of something that steamed. "For you, Captain. A drink to give you both heart and wakefulness during the night ahead."

"Thank you, Thor," Steve said, and took it, though he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to sleep again anyway. He drank the liquid, finding it warm and tasting of honey. It also seemed to give strength to his limbs he hadn't realized he'd lost during the last few weeks, when he'd hardly slept or ate at all.

"I'm truly sorry," Thor said. "I wish that I had realized sooner, that we reached my father sooner."

Steve didn't look at him as he raised Bucky's hand and pressed it against his cheek. "It's alright, Thor. Everything that happened, that I said on Asgard, all of it, it was worth it." He closed his eyes. "I got there in enough time that he saw me. He smiled. For those last few seconds,he knew I'd come for him and he wasn't afraid. I can never repay you for that."

"There is none needed. The valkyries will sing and the halls of Valhalla will stand open this night, for a great warrior is coming to take his place of honour at the table forever."

Steve looked up at him. "Valhalla, huh?"

Thor nodded. "Where all men are made whole again and the hall rings with laughter and stories." 

Steve gave him a small smile. "I think that he'd like that. Bucky always did love a good party."

###

An hour later, Bruce came and helped Steve unhook all of the instruments and life support equipment. He was the only one. Steve didn't want anyone else there, just him and Bucky, so he could be with his friend and break down without an audience to hold him back after. For the moment, he was too numb to be other than professional, even as he wrapped Bucky in the warmest, softest blanket Stark had and lifted him essentially with one arm, the other working the hand pump ventilator that would keep him alive until they were up on the roof. It was awkward, but Steve didn't care. So long as he didn't drop Bucky, his own discomfort was meaningless.

He took the elevator alone with him, standing with his back to the doors as they closed on Bruce's face. Just so he didn't have to see how sad he was.

How the hell were they going to explain this to the Hulk?

Up on the roof someone had set out softly lit lanterns and made a nest of pillows. The sky overhead was so clear and full of stars that it must have taken a thunder god to clear away all the smog. 

"Look at that, Buck," Steve said as he settled down with Bucky lying across his lap and in his arms, his face half obscured by the mask that made a hissing sound every time Steve squeezed the pump. "I don't know if the lights in the sky or the city are brighter."

In the light of the lanterns, Bucky's hair was an ocean of shadow, his face pale and his long lashes edged by lamplight. Steve stared down at him for long minutes, his hand mechanically still pumping air into lungs that didn't want to work anymore on their own.

"I really let you down, Buck," Steve whispered, "but I'm here now. Even if it is to say goodbye."

Before he could stop himself, he threw the hand ventilator across the roof, losing it in shadow, and wrapped himself around Bucky as if he could hold in his life that way.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry. God, Bucky, I love you so much! I've always loved you, ever since we were stupid snot-nosed kids who didn't know a thing about what was important. I thought I wanted so much more with my life when I already had everything I needed, in you. If I could go back in time and take your place, I would. Oh God, I would! Oh, Bucky!"

He started to cry, huge, wrenching tears and that seemed to tear him apart as they forced their way out and still he held Bucky in his arms, cheek against his forehead, and waited those lonely midnight hours for his friend's injured heart to stop.

It didn't stop.

Sometime still long before dawn, when most of the lanterns had burned out and Steve had long since cried himself into gulping silence, he felt a puff of air on his neck, followed by a tiny cough. Almost confused, he pulled back and looked at Bucky's face.

Bucky's eyes were open. He looked at Steve and then up at the sky overhead and his eyes filled with delight. "Lookit th' stars," he slurred.

Steve wondered if he was losing his mind or if the world had just decided arbitrarily to give him a miracle. "Yeah," he choked, not looking away from Bucky. "I see them. They're beautiful."

"I see a shootin' star," Bucky said, sounding more than half asleep.

Steve shot a quick look up. "That's a satellite."

"Wassa sat'lite? No, star. Ma' a wish." 

Steve just hugged him close. "You make a wish," he whispered. "I already got mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger note: turning off of life support.
> 
> spoiler note: he lives anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the end. Fluff and explanations.
> 
> I just realized I forgot about Sam last chapter. Whoops... at least it was only one chapter, unlike when I forgot Thor for the duration of an entire story.

"Bucky, no!"

Sniggering and shuffling as fast as his still healing wounds would let him, Bucky hurried around the side of one of Tony's massive couches and made for the door to the next room while unwrapping a chocolate bar as quickly as possible with a metal hand and a cast that covered all his fingers.

Grinning, Steve vaulted over the couch and ran up behind him, wrapping one arm very carefully around his torso and clapping his other hand across his mouth. 

"You know you're not allowed to have chocolate! And you're supposed to be in bed!"

Bucky licked his palm. 

"Nice try!" Steve said as he wiped his palm off on Bucky's hair and put it over his mouth again.

Tony walked into the room with Bruce. "Hey, thanks," he said, snatching the chocolate out of Bucky's hand and cramming the whole thing in his mouth while making delicious noises.

Bucky made a defeated sound and sagged, turning in Steve's arms to rest against his chest instead. Steve let him, resettling his arms as he smiled at the smaller man. Bucky was all sleep pants and bandages with the stamina of a toddler right now, but he was alive and he was getting better. Not as fast as Steve would, but certainly much faster than a normal person.

Bruce was less impressed. "Stay away from junk food!" he snapped. "Or do you like stomach cramps and vomiting?"

Bucky considered that. "Yup."

Steve laughed at him. "Jerk."

Bucky looked up at him with a grin. "Punk."

Tony finished the chocolate bar and sauntered over to lean against the back of the couch. "Ah, that was disgusting." He pointed at Bucky. "Buckaroo Banzai, I want to see you in my workshop." 

Bucky pulled away from Steve and gave him an uncertain look. "Uh, why?"

"Because, Sergeant Sillypants, I'm going to put a new tracker in your arm. One that can't be taken out. It'll tell us if someone tries to grab you. It'll talk to Jarvis. It'll even provide GPS. Hell, if you want, I'll add a rocket launcher attachment to it."

"No rocket launchers," Steve declared.

Bucky's bottom lip pouted. "But I want a rocket launcher!"

"No, Bucky."

Tony leaned close. "We'll talk downstairs. When Captain Kiljoy can't interfere." He gestured grandly for Bucky to follow him and strode towards the elevator.

Bucky shuffled after him. "Can I have a flamethrower too?"

"Of course!"

"No flamethrower!" Steve shouted.

Steve watched him go, following Tony. He wanted to go too, a very large part of him not wanting to let Bucky out of his sight, but he didn't want Bucky to feel like he was hovering either. Finally, he shook himself and looked at Bruce, standing serenely beside him. "How's he doing?"

Bruce looked at him. "Compared to a week ago?" He turned and went over to the couch. He still didn't like medicine, Steve knew that, but now that Bucky was cognizant, he wouldn't let any other doctor touch him. "Healing, at about twice the rate of a regular human." He sat down. "I think he's in a lot more pain than he admits to, but you know that."

Steve joined him. "Yeah." It broke his heart to see the tightness in Bucky's eyes, but between broken bones, internal bleeding from being kicked, and the gunshot wound, there was going to be pain. "I metabolize drugs too fast for them to be any use, but maybe he'll be able to take them."

"Maybe. We can try some, see if we can take the edge off."

"Just the edge?" Steve asked.

Bruce looked at him. "I've had more conferences with those medical specialists. They're kind of hampered since we won't let anyone have samples of his blood, but there's a theory." He gave a chuckle. "Tony sat in. He dubbed it the "Zola is a lazy douche and a complete bastard" theory."

Steve gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Erskine's formula is the perfect serum. It works all the time, twenty-four hours a day. You get shot, it heals you. It even healed you when you were in the ice, kept you alive. Honestly, I'm not sure you can die." Steve shifted uncomfortably at that and Bruce went on. "Bucky? He definitely got a knock-off. It makes him stronger and faster, just like it does you, helps him heal a lot faster too, but it only works when it has to. That's why Bucky first survived getting shot in the chest, but once we put him on life support to help him in healing, the serum shut down again."

Steve gaped at him. "Are you serious?"

Bruce nodded. "Apparently that's why HYDRA never gave him medical attention the few times he was injured in the field, other than just they were assholes. Leave him alone and the serum will do the job for them."

"So when I took him up onto the roof..."

"The serum kicked in again."

Steve stood up and started to pace. "That's... unspeakably cruel."

"Super soldiers who need no medical attention when hurt in the field?" Bruce said. "It's probably Zola's concept of ideal."

"And who cares how much they suffer in the process." Steve exhaled a long breath. "Sometimes I'm sad Erskine's formula was lost, but it's probably for the best. Someone eventually would have ended up as another Red Skull. But Zola's serum? It's an abomination."

"Bucky isn't," Bruce said.

Steve smiled. "No, he isn't. So this means the brain damage will keep healing?"

Bruce stood. "I don't know. Brains aren't designed to heal. If it were you, definitely. For him, maybe is all I can say. Same as before."

"I can live with a maybe," Steve said, "As long as he's happy."

"Sirs," Jarvis said from above. "Mr Wilson has requested that you both hurry down to Master Stark's workshop. He says, and I quote, "Stark's bolting a grenade launcher onto Buck's arm and Bucky's giggling like one of those Jersey housewives at a shoe sale." 

"Well, maybe not THAT happy," Steve amended and ran for the stairs.


End file.
